Maranjāb is the place where the Kashan plain stops pretending to be gentle. A couple of hours' drive north-east of Kashan, past the oasis towns of Aran and Bidgol, the road gives out onto the Kavir, the great salt desert of central Iran, and a Safavid caravanserai sits there like a ship run aground in the sand. It was built to shelter trade caravans on a harsh route, with thick walls, a central courtyard and rooms for animals and travellers, and it is one of the better preserved caravanserais in the country.
Around it lie sand dunes that can reach respectable heights, and a little further the Namak, the salt lake, whose crust shines white and pink in low light. The silence is heavy, and a short walk away from the road makes it complete. Camels roam in the area, and at dusk the sky is the sort you only get far from city lights.
The riding is about preparation. The road to the caravanserai is paved, and if you take it slowly it is straightforward, but beyond it sand tracks start and a road bike has no business on them. Midsummer heat is dangerous, so aim for October to April, when the days are warm and the nights cold enough for a jacket. Wind can fill the air with dust, sometimes enough to hide the dunes entirely, and the visible hint is a brown haze on the horizon.
Both Aran and Bidgol are old towns with beautiful mud-brick quarters, hammams and big traditional houses that survive from the time when this was a rich place, and a stop there makes the ride a day rather than an errand. The oasis, the caravanserai and the salt are all pieces of the same old logic, the way people moved goods across a land that did not want to be crossed, and you can feel it better from a bike than from a car, with the air on your face and the empty road ahead.